Mr and Mrs Smith
by myversionofevents
Summary: Mr&MrsSmithAU: Two spouses. He reckons his wife works in law. She thinks he runs a manufacturing business. He's an ex-hitman. He believed he turned himself around when he joined a US defence agency (he still takes people out). She's an assassin. She thought she was going straight when she left the KGB (she's still an assassin). Turns out, they're both wrong about a lot of things.


_Because it popped into my brain and I couldn't resist. I don't own these characters, nor the rights to Mrs & Mrs Smith. I won't be sticking exactly to the movie's plot, as, albeit the premise and first few chapters being pretty much identical, not all scenes exactly fit the characters I've picked for this AU, but I hope you enjoy it all the same._

 _Also, I really love this pairing, so I must admit that's another reason I've changed from the movie slightly - because more angst and drama plus currently-unnamed-couple equals the most fun stories to write. Ever._

* * *

'I'll go first,' he stated, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair.

'Let me begin by saying we don't really need to be here,' she interjected, sending a small, questioning smile to her husband beside her.

'Right,' he agreed, nodding. 'See, we've been married four years.'

'Five,' she corrected, maintaining the pleasant smile on her features.

'Right,' he repeated. 'Four, five years. And this is like a check-up for us. Chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil. Replace a seal or two.'

'That's it,' she confirmed, approving his analogy, though she internally was rolling her eyes - of course he'd find a way to bring up mechanics.

'Very well, then. Let's pop the hood. On a scale of one to ten, how happy a couple are you?

'Eight,' she said immediately. _Eight's reasonable_ , she thought. _No one's feelings get hurt with eight. To answer honestly, well._ She didn't need to go there. But she thought his happiness was about an eight.

'Wait - ten being perfectly happy and one being totally miserable, or...?' he questioned, unable to stop himself from clarifying exactly what his answer would mean. He didn't want to lie. Avoiding the question was perfectly acceptable, though.

'Just respond instinctively.' He wasn't an instinctive person. Well, no, that was a lie. He was, very much so. He just liked having his facts straight first.

'Okay,' he gave in, sighing mentally. Ready?' he checked.

'Yes,' his wife responded.

'Eight,' they chorused. _Better to agree with her_ , he figured, After all, the relationship only truly existed from her point of view.

 _Yes_ , she considered. Eight was an acceptable answer.

'How often do you have sex?'

'I don't understand the question,' the woman answered. This counselling really wasn't her sort of thing. Paying someone to ask personal questions? _No thank you._

'Yeah, I'm lost. Is this a one to ten thing?' Avoidance seemed as though it may be the only way for him to get out of this appointment unscathed - whether it would be accidentally hurting his wife's feelings or his own guilt eating into him that got to him first, he wasn't sure. 'Because, is, like, one very little, or is one nothing? Because...you know, technically speaking, zero would be nothing.'

 _This is pointless_ , she thought. _This doctor ought to at least have his questions make sense._

 _What good are these questions?_ he asked himself.

'How about this week?'

 _This week?_ he considered. _Ha._ 'lncluding the weekend?'

 _It's still zero,_ she thought _. Why would he ask about the weekend?_ she internally questioned.

'Sure.'

Both spouses remained silent. From the corner of his eye he could tell his wife had no real intention of answering the question. He himself couldn't have told the doctor how long it had been. He didn't know. That alone would probably be an indication as to the state of their marriage.

'Describe how you first met,' instructed the doctor. He must've understood the blank looks from the couple and given up.

'It was five years ago,' she told him, breathing deeply, preparing herself to recite the story, mentally removing features such as the assassination she had partook in and the false identity she'd used to enter the country from the tale. No one needed to know about that. Not ever.

'Four,' he overrode, the forced look of calm he was projecting not shifting, going over the events of that day in his head, blocking out the multiple felonies he'd committed that day so as to restrict the story simply to the PG version his wife knew.

'Right. Four or five years ago,' she conceded. _It was five, though,_ she couldn't resist adding to herself.

'And where was this? New York?'

'No,' Clint dismissed, smiling fondly once more as one ought to at the memory of meeting their partner. 'It was in Hungary, actually.'

The woman nodded, flashing a wider smile at the doctor as if to assure him that, as it would have been had she been in this for more than just a convenient cover, the day had been one of the happiest of her life. 'Budapest,' "Natalie" specified. 'We met in Budapest.'

* * *

 _Chapter two in a little while. I feel as though now that they will never be movie-canon, my brain is coming up with every possible ClintXNatasha story it can think of. Seriously, my document manager is full of half written first chapters of stories in an attempt to free up some brain space._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _Posted: September 14th 2015_


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